How to Become an Animagus (in Ten Steps)
by reluctantpukwudgie
Summary: They only wanted to help Remus. But carrying Mandrake leaves around in his mouth for a month, James discovers, is only the beginning of the battle. Based on JKR's description of the process in Pottermore's "Heroism, Hardship, and Dangerous Hobbies".
1. Step One

_1\. For the space of one entire month (from full moon to full moon), a single leaf from a Mandrake must be carried constantly in the mouth. The leaf must not be swallowed or taken out of the mouth at any point. If the leaf is removed from the mouth, the process must be started again._

• • •

"What," said Remus, "is wrong with you three?"

James, who had tried to prepare himself for this moment, gave him the blankest look he could manage. Sirius raised a vague eyebrow. Peter covered his mouth with both hands. None of them said anything.

Remus had just returned from the hospital wing. Though he was paler and thinner even than usual, and he wore heavy creases under both eyes, he stood in the doorway of their dormitory as if he fancied himself a bulwark, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked each of them up and down, the space between his eyebrows crinkled.

"Look," said Sirius finally, and James could tell he had shifted the (impossibly awkward; only slightly smaller than a piece of lettuce; highly uncomfortable whilst sleeping) Mandrake leaf from one of his cheeks to the other. "Shumshing happened."

"Something happened while I was gone?"

"Yesh," Sirius confirmed, and his eyes finally met James'. To James' vast relief, they were glittering with the spark of an idea. And this brand of Sirius Idea—the kind that came after Sirius was backed into a corner by Filch, or when McGonagall had caught him chucking Dungbombs at Mulciber—was usually utterly stupid, but it also usually worked.

James nodded in agreement. The stem of the leaf was poking at his gums. He tried to fold it in half using the roof of his mouth, but Mandrake leaves were notoriously tough, and it sprang back into his left cheek. He shoved it backwards and nearly swallowed it.

"Mulshiber curshed ush," Sirius explained. "Shnivellus tried to jinksh Peter after Potionsh becaush he shpilled hish Wart-Growing Potion all over hish shoesh. Sho I got out my wand and Jamesh called him a berk and den he _curshed ush."_

"You're telling me," said Remus, "that Mulciber cursed the three of you to… to sound as though you've each lost your two front teeth all over again? Brilliant. Except," he added, suddenly frowning at Peter, who was determinedly trying to stop his Mandrake from shooting out of his mouth, "is that _lettuce?"_

"No," said Peter, green leaf protruding from his teeth. "It'sh Shinesh Shomping Cabbadsh."

Remus' frown deepened.

"Dat'sh de cursh," said Sirius triumphantly. "It'sh growing out of our moudsh. Madam Pomfrey manadshed to shtop it from shomping our tonguesh off, but she couldn't get rid of it; it only grew back. She shaid it might lasht for a few weeksh."

"You weren't in the hospital wing," Remus observed.

Sirius evidently hadn't thought of this flaw in the plan. He glanced over at James, his eyes popping in desperation.

"She had to come to ush," said James quickly. "Apparently Shinesh Shomping Cabbadsh can really _shomp._ Almosht took off Shiriush'sh noshe. Total dishashter. Blood pouring everywhere—can you _imadshine_ what Shiriush would look like widout a noshe? We dought he'd have to turn to a life of crime—totally unemployable, looking like dat."

"Well," said Remus, looking vaguely impressed at the thought of a noseless Sirius. "All right, then." He uncrossed his arms. "I'll warn you now, though. If you three sound like _that_ for a few weeks? I have every intention of enjoying this."

• • •

It turned out that there were _several_ things they hadn't counted on.

First of all, there was food, which James had just assumed he'd reserve one cheek for, resting the Mandrake leaf in the other. But he hadn't realized this would only work if he had two _jaws_ as well as two cheeks. It was almost impossible to keep himself from turning every meal into a Mandrake burrito, and every book on the subject had warned them that the spell could go horribly wrong if any of the leaf was missing. Eventually, James gave up and just took soup he could slurp through the rolled-up leaf.

Peter took this about as well as James did, which was to say that they were both always hungry and a little bit grumpy. Sirius, on the other hand, took it very badly indeed. He had the kind of metabolism that begged for more food every time he finished a meal, and he had always regarded the lavish Hogwarts dinners as his rightful reward for a prank well done or a Snivellus well-kicked.

"I dream of shteak," he whispered to James, as they stood in the soup line for the umpteenth time. "Shlabsh and shlabsh of shteak, wid millionsh of potatoesh and pilesh of gravy." After a week and a half, he was almost as thin as Remus, his long hair tangled like a dark pile of straw, an expression of abject pain on his face.

"Only sheventeen more daysh," said James, spooning some broth into his bowl, trying to reassure himself. "Dat'sh—dat'sh only a couple daysh longer dan de winter holidaysh. And dey went by fasht, didn't dey?"

But this did not seem to help, especially as it was October, and the last winter holidays seemed hundreds of years ago.

Then there was Professor McGonagall, who was an Animagus herself, and was certainly familiar with the process. In former whispered discussions, James, Sirius, and Peter had decided that they would have to lie low in Transfiguration. Refusing to speak up for a month wouldn't matter—James and Sirius could take the hit to their marks, and Peter didn't care; he agreed Remus was far more important.

But somehow they'd failed to realize that magic itself—at least magic when you were a fifth-year—kind of required speech. They'd managed to hide their problems in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts—Remus was good at the first and excellent at the latter, and was more than willing to help (although he did keep _giggling_ every time James attempted a spell with an "s" in it)—but Remus had only ever been average at Transfiguration. And James and Sirius had always been top of the class.

 _"_ _Pishiforsh!"_ whispered James, looking hopefully at the frog he was supposed to be turning into a fish. "I shwear to Merlin— _pishi_ forsh—"

Sirius wasn't even trying. He was leaning limpidly back in his chair, his eyes closed. James could have sworn he could hear his stomach growling.

James jabbed his wand at the frog's bowl again. "No—you shtupid leaf— _pishi—pisca_ —blaaaaargh—"

The Mandrake leaf, which had turned rubbery and even less yielding after the second week, bounced up from where James' tongue had been holding it back. Unfortunately, McGonagall chose this time to stride over to their corner of the classroom.

Before she could examine their work, however, Remus jumped to action. Surreptitiously pointing his wand at James', Peter's, and Sirius' frogs in turn, he muttered _"Piscifors!"_ three times, and then looked up at McGonagall, who was leaning over them, her nostrils flared.

James didn't understand why until he felt a peculiar wriggling at the end of his wrist. He glanced down at it. Remus had missed his frog completely and turned James' hand into a large perch. It was flopping desperately back and forth on his desk, looking for water.

"I've told you again and again," said McGonagall, every word imbued with deep exasperation, "that messing around in my classroom will not be tolerated. _Hospital wing_ , Mr. Potter. I expect you to make up every bit of the practice you'll be missing while you're there. I suppose you can accompany him, Mr. Pettigrew."

"Shanksh," said Peter, before his eyes widened and he began to cough loudly. Apparently he'd nearly choked on his Mandrake. It had happened to them all by this time, but it took longer than usual for Peter to recover his breath. In that time, James caught a glint of green from between his lips.

McGonagall's expression froze for several seconds. Then she squinted at Peter, glanced at the still-Untransfigured frog in his fishbowl, looked back at Peter again, and shook her head. "I expect to see you working _much_ harder next class," she said. "I trust you don't need to be told that's your final warning."

The fish on James' wrist flipped backwards and died.

They decided they'd better just skive off Transfiguration after that.


	2. Step Two (Part One)

_2\. Remove the leaf at the full moon and place it, steeped in your saliva, in a small crystal phial that receives the pure rays of the moon (if the night is cloudy, you will have to find a new Mandrake leaf and begin the whole process again)._

• • •

"Moon's full tonight," said Remus. "So, er—I'm going after Charms. I'll see you lot on Saturday."

"Oh, we know," said Sirius sardonically. "Believe ush, we know."

Remus gave him an odd look.

"Shiriush only meansh dat he hopesh Mulshiber'sh cursh wearsh off when de moon goesh up," said James quickly. "Madam Pomfrey said it might. Shinesh Shomping Cabbadshesh are shenshitive to de lunar shycle."

"Well," said Remus, wearily taking a forkful of the cottage pie none of the rest of them could eat. "It would be nice if one good thing came of the moon going up."

• • •

Remus' lunascope (stashed under his bed, under a pile of robes he'd outgrown) told them that the moon would rise at 7:30 that evening. The Animagus books had explained that nobody had yet discovered exactly how much moonlight the Mandrake leaves needed, as there were so few Animagi to do studies on. Therefore, they all agreed that the best thing to do was to keep it under the moon all night. They'd sneak out just after dinner, and stay there until dawn.

There was also the matter of clouds, which had kept James up nights when the Mandrake's increasingly poky stem hadn't. Hogwarts was in northern Scotland, quite possibly the cloudiest place on earth. The thought that they could miss out on a pure stream of moonlight, and have to carry Mandrakes around in their mouths for another month, just because of the stupid _weather,_ was an absolutely terrifying one.

"If it happens, we'll leave school and move to Mallorca until Christmas," Sirius had said fiercely, when they'd first discovered this possible hitch in the plan. "We won't have to talk to anyone, and we can lie on the beach for hours every day. We'll be in such luxury we won't even _remember_ we have leaves in our mouths."

"But Remus will be alone," said Peter.

"Obviously Remus will come _with_ us," said Sirius. "He deserves luxury just as much as the rest of us. We'll find him a nice private beach for the moon. No more shacks."

As nice as this sounded, James couldn't help hoping that the Mandrake leaves worked the first time.

They spent all day on edge. Professor Flitwick snapped at them several times for staring out the window instead of paying attention to their spellwork. The sky was the kind that could go either way, James thought. Some cloud wisps were making their way across the sky, but none so thick that they couldn't see the sunshine flooding through them. All he could do was cross his fingers and hope.

Thankfully, by the end of dinner, the sky seemed unchanged, so they ran upstairs to their dormitory, tearing through their trunks for the crystal phials they had bought in Diagon Alley two summers ago.

Gregory Cotton, their fifth roommate, who had seemed to find all four of them exasperating from the moment they were Sorted, looked up from his books curiously. "Remus gone again, then?" he said.

"His parentsh run a rabbit farm; what do you exshpect?" said James. It was difficult to keep a straight face with the Mandrake jabbing him in the gums, but he managed as best he could. "Do you know how many disheashesh rabbitsh carry? Hish mum'sh really ill this time; the Healersh aren't sure she'll ever be the same."

"He never looks healthy when he comes back, either," Gregory pointed out. "You'd think they'd have switched careers by now, from the toll it seems to take on all of them."

"Rabbitsh are deir _passion,"_ said Sirius staunchly. "Well, not Remush sho mush, but hish parentsh are _obsheshed._ Pilesh of rabbit poo all over the houshe. Dey shink it shmellsh nishe. Like a lovely walk in the foresht."

Gregory shuddered and returned to his reading.

They threw the Cloak on in the narrow corridor between the girls' and boys' dormitories, and huddled together until they reached the agreed-upon spot behind Hagrid's hut. Once arrived, they let the Cloak fall to the ground so they could take stock of their supplies. The moon wasn't due to rise for another five minutes, so they kept the Mandrake leaves in their mouth while they gathered the crystal phials, a corked bottle of dew, three silver teaspoons Sirius had stolen from his mother's antiques cabinet, and a package of Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalises.

"One minute," said James, looking down at his watch. "Fifty shecondsh…"

They waited. It was a chilly night; winter was clearly on its way. James wished he had brought a heavier cloak, but it was too late now.

"Twenty shecondsh… ten… nine… eight…"

A terrible noise echoed out from somewhere in the distance. It sounded as if something—not a bear, not a wolf, certainly not a _person_ —was trying its best to rip itself in half, and yet was in unbearable agony despite its intentions. It was followed by a sound that wasn't quite a sob, and then a scream that sounded more like a half-silent cough. James sank to his knees without realizing what he was doing, his stomach suddenly full of something cold and desperate.

"What was that?" said Sirius, his eyes huge. He had taken his Mandrake leaf out of his mouth and was stuffing it into his crystal phial, but his attention wasn't on his work.

James spat his own Mandrake leaf into his phial, so that the stem landed at the bottom of the container. His feeling that it had doubled in size while inside his mouth had turned out to be correct: he had to fold it over four times to even attempt to get it into the phial. It had also gone a strange leathery texture, like the skins of some reptiles. James wondered if he was destined to become a lizard.

The noise came again, but this time it had changed. This time, James knew without a shadow of a doubt what it was. The chill in his stomach froze another degree.

"Remus, I think," he said quietly.

Peter looked as if he was going to be sick. His fingers stumbled on the edge of his phial, and his leaf almost flew out. "That was _Remus?"_ he whispered. "But that was—that was—"

"Horrible," said James heavily. "I know."

Sirius didn't say a word; instead, he merely stared at the direction the sound had come from. His face tightened as another unearthly howl broke the evening air.

"Fuck Mallorca," he said, pushing so hard on his Mandrake leaf that the whole thing slid into his phial with a small _pop_. "We've got to get this done _now_."


	3. Step Two (Part Two)

_To the moon-struck crystal phial, add one of your own hairs, a silver teaspoon of dew collected from a place that neither sunlight nor human feet have touched for a full seven days, and the chrysalis of a Death's-head Hawk Moth. Put this mixture in a quiet, dark place and do not look at it or otherwise disturb it until the next electrical storm._

• • • _  
_

The Death's-head Hawk Moth chrysalises had been easy. While usually expensive, Sirius' Uncle Alphard was a friend of a friend of a Potions supplier, and Sirius' Uncle Alphard was also not the type to ask questions (although he did seem to be under the impression that Sirius was attempting a love potion, from the Ashwinder eggs and rose thorns he included in the package). At any rate, a rather musty-smelling bundle had arrived at James' window in the August after third year, and the contents had been safely stored away in his trunk ever since.

The dew, on the other hand, had been a problem. They had tackled that part of the project back in April.

On the Hogwarts grounds, there was only one place where neither sunlight nor human feet dared go. For a while, James, Sirius, and Peter had debated the necessity of going there. Sirius suggested Conjuring the dew—after all, surely there was no sunlight or human feet wherever Conjured things came from—but James and Peter had agreed this would be cheating. And cheating was not something they could afford to risk.

"If I get stuck as part rhinoceros or something forever and it's your fault," said Peter, narrowing his eyes at Sirius, "I swear I will stampede you."

"I'll be half a golden lion tamarin and sit in a tree laughing at you," said Sirius off-handedly. "Also, you need more than one rhino for a stampede, Pete. Although, mind you, I've always thought Davy Gudgeon had a rhino-ish look to him. Perhaps you could get him to help."

Peter colored. Davy Gudgeon was in Hufflepuff, and the sort of person Peter might have become if he had never met James, Sirius, and Remus. Sometimes James thought his best friend went a little far in teasing Peter.

"Nobody's going to be a rhino or a tamarin," said James. "That book said people are normally boring things, remember? Like a rabbit, or a crow, or… or a newt. I bet I'm a newt."

He didn't, of course, but he thought it would make Peter feel better, and it did.

• • •

Ultimately, there was no hope for it. In muttered conversations while Remus' attention was elsewhere, and in those hours when he was too ill to leave the hospital wing, James and Sirius agreed: they would have to go into the Forbidden Forest and find the centaurs.

Some of the books theorized that the Animagus Charm had come from the centaurs in the first place: that was how they had become the way they were. James didn't think this theory held much water, but it was true that centaurs had magic that wizards didn't, and that a great deal of that magic came from nature. He had found a book that described the way centaurs burned herbs to divine the future, shot arrows to determine the course of their lives, and collected dew in earthen bowls. If anyone knew how to go about this part of their project, they did.

Apparently, though, centaurs didn't like wizards much. For that reason, James, Sirius, and Peter decided that they would enter the forest wearing the Invisibility Cloak. It seemed like a good idea anyway—James had heard all sorts of stories about the things that lived in the Forest, and while he and his friends had made several furtive explorations along the edges, they'd never gone all the way in. Sirius claimed most of the stories were just rumors—and after all, _they_ had a friend who was probably more dangerous than any of the creatures who lived there—but James wasn't so sure.

The night after the full moon, when Remus was still in the hospital wing, the three boys slipped on the Cloak and snuck out of the castle. Sirius lit his wand, and a whispered _Point-Me_ took them toward the center of the Forest, where _Hogwarts, A History_ explained the centaurs had settled long ago.

"You sure the book was right?" whispered Peter, crunching twigs from beside James. "That they sleep during the day, I mean—so they can look at the stars at night? And if it _is_ right, then doesn't that mean we'll be disturbing them? Won't they be upset?"

These were all valid points, considering the book they had consulted was at least a hundred years old, but James pretended not to notice. "We've always figured things out before. Don't worry so much. We're going to charm the pants off them."

"But centaurs don't wear pants—"

Peter stopped abruptly. Something bulky and yet graceful had moved in the copse of trees ahead of them. Its eyes glinted in the darkness, and it stopped too, looking straight at the place where the Cloak hid their group. James' breath caught in his throat.

 _"_ _Who goes there?"_

The voice was male, and deeper than most. As it spoke, it came fully into view, the long tail on its hindquarters whipping back and forth in agitation. James took in four enormous, seal-brown horse's legs, cascading waves of smooth dark hair, the place where the horse became a man, rippling into the kind of muscles that James was quite sure he would never have. There was also a look of fierce suspicion written upon the creature's face.

Purely on instinct, James tore the Invisibility Cloak away, revealing their totally unimpressive status as skinny, dirt-covered fourth-years, clad in jeans and dressing gowns. He held up both hands, hoping it was the right thing to do. "We're only students," he said carefully. "I'm James Potter, and this is Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew. We, er—we brought you something."

The book had said that the centaurs might be more amenable if you brought them a gift, that their resentment against wizards was such that they considered even knowledge a reward that they didn't deserve. At least, not for nothing.

Sirius held out an assortment of Alihotsy branches, which Peter had tied with a red and gold ribbon. ("My mum always says presentation is everything," he explained.) They'd been careful to choose a plant that wasn't endemic to the Forest—Alihotsy trees grew only in Africa and in carefully-curated Greenhouse Six—and that the centaurs might have some use for. As Alihotsy branches were a necessary ingredient in Laughing Potions, James hoped they might cheer the centaurs up slightly.

The centaur before them plucked the branches out of Sirius' arms, sniffed them for a second, and then threw them on the ground in disgust.

"We have no use for your foreign plants, human. The arrogance of your kind is such that you believe whatever you offer us will be greeted with grateful thanks—indeed, with praise and celebration. The truth is that we have all we need in our Forest. It is your kind's meddling that puts our way of life at risk." He paused a moment, and James felt his dark eyes boring into his own. "Come this way."

Sirius gave James a searching look, and they nodded tersely at each other, taking careful steps behind the centaur. Unease radiated off of Peter, who was making sure to walk between James and Sirius. The centaur took them between the trees, through brambles and bushes and vines. The journey scraped up their bare hands and embedded thorns in the soles of their shoes. At last, they arrived at a clearing, where four centaurs with their backs to them were looking up at the stars.

"Mercury," murmured one. He was smaller than the others—a child, James thought.

"Yes, Firenze," said the centaur beside him. "Do you recall its effect on the other heavenly bodies, when it is positioned like so?"

The centaur that had brought them there cleared his throat loudly. The other four centaurs turned.

"Aric," said a dun-colored centaur. "I see you were correct about the disturbance in the Forest."

"They are not men, but they will soon become so," said their centaur—Aric. "I believe they came to find us, although I doubt they will be truthful about their purpose. They bestowed a pile of foreign branches upon me—a useless gift. What think you, Junius?"

James noticed that Firenze was watching him and the others intently. If he had been human, James would have guessed he was about ten years old; he had not yet developed the sharp, serious look of his fellow centaurs. Experimentally, James gave him a small smile. Firenze gave him a small smile back.

"We will hear their story," said Junius, the dun-colored centaur. "Then we will decide what to do with them. Whether they can safely be returned to the castle, or if they must remain here, to be judged accordingly." He turned his attention to James, Sirius, and Peter, as if he had only just realized they understood English. "Explain yourselves. You must keep no secrets. Your kind are the most skilled liars of any creature upon this earth, and we will not stand for your deception."

James hadn't anticipated this. They'd hoped that the Alihotsy gift would be enough for an exchange without having to explain anything to the centaurs. But he gave the best explanation he could, with some enthusiastic interjections from Sirius (Peter stood silent, his arms swinging at his sides). James didn't mention Remus, because he didn't know what centaurs thought of werewolves, and he didn't mention the fact that no one knew what they were up to, because he didn't know what centaurs thought of rule-breaking. Therefore, the story came out sounding like the three of them had just decided to become Animagi on a whim, and were strangely desperate to complete the transformation as soon as possible.

"So we need this dew," he finished. "But neither sunlight nor human feet can have touched the place where it's collected for a week. And, well... this _is_ the Forest…"

"And none of you have any feet," said Sirius helpfully.

"Or pants," said Peter, so quietly that only James heard.

"And we hoped… if we gave you something in return… you might… be able to help us?"

But this was clearly not something the centaurs wanted to hear. Aric made a noise that was half horse, half human, and all frightening. Junius pawed the ground, his eyes narrowed.

"We do not help humans," said a roan centaur. "This is something you ought to learn now rather than later. We owe you nothing. Your kind owes us hundreds of years of restitution."

"Does that mean you _have_ the dew?" said Sirius, perking up slightly. "Because seriously, we'll give you whatever you want, no matter what it is—we'll give you _loads_ of things, even. Way more than a tiny little bottle of dew is worth."

All of the centaurs except Firenze glared at Sirius. James couldn't stop himself putting a protective hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Our magic is not meant for the likes of you," said Junius. "There is nothing you could give us that could make up for the crimes your species have committed against ours."

"Well—that's why we _want_ the dew!" said Sirius, and there was a familiar glimmer in his eyes now. "You see, we've been doing loads of reading about your—about your enormously noble and most _unfairly_ oppressed species. And so we decided it isn't worth being wizards anymore, not with this terrible history we've got going for ourselves, and the truly unforgivable hardships we've inflicted upon you. So—so—we want to become Animagi in order to _restitute_ to the best of our ability. We'll finish the potion, we'll become animals, and then there'll be a few less wizards in the world—everybody wins. And we'll, you know—humble ourselves, and all that. For the cause."

The centaurs glanced at Sirius again. They seemed less angry, but James couldn't tell what they were thinking.

"Yes," said Peter unexpectedly. "I—I'm hoping to become a flea. Very humble, fleas are."

"We'll all become fleas," said Sirius breathlessly. "I mean, you've met us; we'd make excellent fleas, wouldn't we? We're flea-people. Fleas of restitution."

"Tiny, humble, non-wizard fleas," agreed Peter.

For a half-second, James actually thought this Sirius Idea was going to work. But apparently centaurs were less gullible than Madam Hooch and Madam Pomfrey and Professor Flitwick and even Filch, because they all began to laugh uproariously. It was a frightening sound, like a group of choking horses.

"Perhaps you are not as close to being men as I suspected," said Aric. "Your lies are far less adroit than one would expect."

"Very entertaining, though," said a white centaur. "I will remember them with fondness."

"Indeed," said Junius, nodding. "As you have proven yourselves to be no more than foolish children, I will allow you to return to the castle unharmed. But you must never return to our Forest. To do so is to take responsibility for the breach of centaur law you have committed this night, and to willingly reap your reward."

The centaurs closed in on their group before any of them could utter a word of protest, forcing them back and back and back, until they were stumbling through the forest again, the lit turrets of the castle just visible from beyond the trees. Somehow the journey back seemed much quicker than the trip inside. James wondered if the centaurs' peculiar brand of magic had anything to do with it.

"What are we going to do?" hissed Sirius, as they neared Hagrid's hut. "We can't just give up, especially now that we know that they have it! This is for Remus—and we were _so close!"_

"Who's Remus?" said an interested voice from behind them.

James swung around. Firenze was standing behind them, his torso casually leaning against a tree. Peter yelped slightly. Sirius merely tensed, cursing softly under his breath.

"No one," said James quickly. "Look, we're leaving. We swear we are. We won't come back—we respect your people, we promise—"

"You don't," said Firenze matter-of-factly. "You always lie; that's what Papa says. But it's all right. You're humans; you can't help it. Anyway, I've been collecting dew at lessons. I've got far too much of it—wouldn't give you any otherwise, but it goes wrong if you keep it without using it. So, here. You can have it. As long as you don't tell anyone where you got it."

"No danger of that," said James slowly, his gaze moving to Firenze's hands, which were cupped around a small, corked bottle. "That's—that's really dew? I mean, the kind we need? It's really been away from sunlight and humans for seven days?"

"Are you insulting my intelligence?" said Firenze, frowning at James and holding the bottle closer to his chest. "Papa says humans always do that."

"No—no, of course not," said James quickly. "I only meant—actually, never mind; I didn't mean anything. But why are you helping us?"

"Because you're interesting," said Firenze simply. "And Papa always says the greatest strength of centaurs is found in thinking for ourselves."

"He's a wise man," said Sirius, stretching out a hand.

Firenze ignored him and slipped it into James', who nearly dropped it, startled. "I—well. Thank you," he said. "Thanks a lot."

Firenze merely smiled. "Have fun being fleas," he said, and cantered away.


	4. Step Three

_3\. While waiting for the storm, the following procedure should be followed at sunrise and sundown. The tip of the wand should be placed over the heart and the following incantation spoken: 'Amato Animo Animato Animagus.'_

• • •

They deposited each of their phials in the secret drawer beneath Sirius' trunk, as it was full of mothballs and one very large dead cockroach, and they hoped this might put them off being tempted to check how things were coming. They had thought about digging a hole outside and keeping the potions there, or finding an abandoned cupboard in an unused corridor, but they had decided this was too risky. Anyone might find the phials, look at them, and put them back, and then they'd be stuck as half-animal forever.

"The only thing," said Peter, looking over the instructions with a frown, "is that we're supposed to put them in a _quiet_ place. Our dormitory isn't quiet. Ever. At all."

"Gregory Cotton is quiet," Sirius pointed out, looking over at the place where Gregory was snoring expressively in his four-poster. "I won't speak for you other rapscallions."

"We just won't hang around upstairs," said James decisively, and then he dropped to a whisper—they were still in their dormitory, after all. "That's what the common room's meant to be for, anyway. But we should stay here for this part. It's almost sunrise. Get your wands out."

Both he and Sirius had parents who had made them study Latin as children, and although neither of them were especially good at it, James thought he understood this spell. _Amato animo animato animagus…_ _Love and soul… animates Animagi?_ Like all spells, James was sure there was more to it than just the phrases; you were clearly meant to put those things together, your love and your soul, until they came together to form your animal.

The problem was, James wasn't sure what he was supposed to be _loving_ as he performed the spell. Did it mean he should be thinking about Lily Evans as he put his wand over his heart? After the disaster that was their last encounter, he'd been trying (unsuccessfully) _not_ to think about her. He wanted to avoid those feelings, not call them to the forefront of his brain.

"Sun's rising," said Sirius, glancing out the window.

 _Remus is turning back,_ thought James. He nodded and placed his wand over his ribs, where he could feel the rather faster than normal _thump_ of his heartbeat. "Together?"

"Together," agreed Peter. Sirius nodded. James gripped his wand tighter.

"Now," he whispered.

" _Amato animo animato animagus!"_

Absolutely nothing happened.

They looked at each other.

"Back to sleep, then," said Sirius, in a voice that was a little too obviously cheerful.

"The book says nothing's supposed to happen," said James, his eyes on the rising sun.

"Right. I know."

"But still," said Peter, and James could tell he was thinking of the noises they had heard, the previous night, as they stood in the tall grass outside Hagrid's hut.

"But still," James agreed.

"But still," said Sirius, his jaw set.

• • •

"So, let me get this straight," said Remus. His face looked serious, but he had a funny twinkle about his eyes. "Your cabbage thing, which was actually on a lunar cycle all this time, has finally been cured, but it seems to have taken your voices with it. Or is it another curse? Mulciber again this time, I suppose?"

"Please, Remus, not so _loud,"_ hissed Sirius, his eyes darting to corner where he kept his trunk. "Our _ears."_

"They're awful," James agreed. "Aching. Very sensitive. Very painful."

"I prefer them this way," said Gregory Cotton. "By all means encourage it."

"I _see_ ," said Remus in a loud whisper, ignoring Gregory Cotton and pacing to the other end of the room, tapping his chin like a rather pale and shaky private detective. "So the issue in question is not your voices, but your hearing. Perhaps a Grindylow shouted very loudly at you? Or you've each got baby Dugbogs nesting in your ears?"

"Oh, stop showing off," said Peter affectionately. "We all know your father works for the Department for the Regulation of Magical Creatures."

"The Department for the Regulation and _Control_ of Magical Creatures," Remus corrected. "Which is important because they aren't really very good at the controlling part of it. Boggarts all up and down the country. Shameful, really. But that's not the point."

"I thought his father worked on a rabbit farm," called Gregory Cotton. "Piles of rabbit poo, and all that."

Remus stopped pacing and gave James a quizzical look. James put on his most innocent smile.

"Be _quiet_ ," whispered Sirius, giving Gregory Cotton a murderous glance. "I _told_ you, our _ears._ "

"He does," Peter explained in a low voice. "It's a family rabbit farm. Spends all morning hand-feeding them lettuce they grow in their back garden, and then he goes off to fight Boggarts. With rabbit pellets, you know."

"There's this one rabbit," James whispered, trying to clue Remus in, "that they call their 'furry little problem'. Hades. He's about the size of a Quaffle, but he's got teeth like razors, and you _don't_ want to be around if he hasn't had his evening carrot—"

A peculiar snorting noise came from Remus' direction. James turned; it appeared to be costing Remus every ounce of his self-control to keep from falling over laughing. James watched him attempt to get control of his lips, which were twitching wildly.

"It's true," Remus agreed after several breathless seconds. "He'll only have the best lettuce, too; he knows somehow if you've given it to another rabbit. I tried to feed him a piece that wasn't fresh-picked yesterday morning and he nearly bit my arm off. And poor Mum has only just recovered from the Radish Incident."

"The Radish Incident?" said Gregory, who sounded intrigued despite himself.

"You kind of had to be there," said Remus airily, the sides of his mouth twisting upwards in spite of himself. "It was totally loony."

• • •

Autumn turned to winter. The air outside the castle grew chill and stark. Moods darkened, in teachers and students alike, and James spent far more hours tediously writing out assignments than he wanted to. Quidditch practices grew cold and wet, Sirius received several letters from home that put him on edge for days, and Peter accidentally jinxed all his toenails off in an unpleasantly memorable Charms class.

Worst of all was what began to happen to Remus. And James knew it was their fault—his and Peter's and Sirius'.

Like everything else about the becoming-an-Animagus process, remembering to do the spell every sunup and sundown was much harder than James had anticipated. For one thing, it required waking up early, which wasn't something that _any_ of them were good at. Every night before bed, James, Peter, and Sirius put an Up-at-Dawn Charm on themselves, which had the advantage of being completely silent, unlike the Caterwauling Charm on their watches, but the distinct disadvantage of jolting them awake mid-dream. Remus slept through it all—thankfully, he was an even heavier sleeper than Sirius, which was saying something—but every morning, James felt it had been a close call. After several weeks, the thought that they might have to sneak around like this indefinitely, for _months_ , even, was enough to make his blood run cold.

However, the charm they had to do when the sun set was far more difficult. In Scottish Novembers, the sun set early, and James knew it would only get worse. Eventually, they would be running out of their afternoon lessons to cast the spell. As it was, they were frequently abandoning Remus at dinner, something that left their friend amused at first, but quickly changed to bewilderment, and then a kind of silent fear that James noticed but did not know how to address.

"5:06," said Sirius in James' ear, tapping the silver Black family watch that he wore to spite his brother. "We'd better go."

James looked across the table, where Remus was watching them, trying to smile. It was two days to the full moon, and he was more aware of it than he had ever been before. "We'll be right back, Remus," he said. "You can have the rest of my chips."

"I can do pranks too, you know," said Remus in one breath, and James could tell this was something he'd been waiting to say for days. "Just because I'm a Prefect doesn't mean I can't be part of things. I've done pranks with you loads of times. I've _thought_ of a few." He swallowed. "Remember what I did to that staircase last year?"

"That's not why," said Sirius, sighing.

James looked at him in alarm as Remus' face paled and then fell; he was sure he knew what his friend was thinking.

"No," said James hurriedly. "Sirius only means—there's a reason this one's secret, all right? You wouldn't like it. It's—it's to do with Snivellus."

He regretted saying it immediately, for more than one reason. A certain girl with dark red hair and piercing green eyes had heard the last word he'd said, and gave James a glare that felt like knives under his skin. Then she muttered something to Mary Macdonald and Marlene McKinnon. Whatever it was, James did not imagine it was anything good.

Why did Lily only ever see the worst of him?

"Yes," said Peter, totally oblivious. "It's to do with Snivellus."

"I never stop you doing anything to Snivellus," said Remus quietly.

"I know," said James. "I know."

"We've got to run. _Now_ ," said Sirius, standing up very suddenly and nearly knocking his chair over. "Two minutes."

"Oh god," said James, and really did knock over his chair. Lily snorted.

James looked away. "Bugger—sorry, Remus, we'll be right back—I swear we'll explain later—if they start pudding, don't you dare let the Slytherins take it all—"

They ran to a small classroom by the trophy room. They had never cut it so fine. But all while James was performing his spell, the image of Remus' white, unhappy face swam in his mind's eye, and he couldn't help wondering if all this was worth it.

"We were stupid," he said, when they had finished. "Electrical storms don't happen in winter; they happen in summer. We'll be doing this every _day_ until then, and it'll only get worse, and he'll convince himself we don't care about him, and he'll go all distant like he does, and there's no way we can tell him why yet. He'd be furious."

"We weren't stupid," said Sirius fiercely. "We wanted to help him as soon as we could. You heard him last month—we can't let him keep going through that alone. And—and—" He rested his chin on the planes of his thumbs. "There are _sometimes_ electrical storms in winter, aren't there? There definitely are. Sometimes."

"I didn't realize," said Peter, looking down. "How bad it was. It's… it's Remus, you know? He always went away and came back again. All cheerful, like. Like he really was on a visit home."

"Can we _force_ an electrical storm to happen?" said James. "Can we—I don't know, cast a spell into the sky? It doesn't matter if it's difficult, we can learn it. Maybe if all four of us did it, something would happen?"

Peter shook his head. "The book says the potion knows when you cheat."

"Rhinos and tamarins," said Sirius, shaking his head. "But maybe that would help him sooner. Could he hurt us? If we were half?"

They stood in silence for a few minutes. James knew that Remus was waiting for them in the Great Hall, but he still didn't know what to say, or what to do, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was better off saying nothing than saying the wrong thing. They certainly couldn't tell him the truth.


	5. Step Four

_4\. The wait for a storm may take weeks, months or even years. During this time, the crystal phial should remain completely undisturbed and untouched by sunlight. Contamination by sunlight gives rise to the worst mutations. Resist the temptation to look at your potion until lightning occurs. If you continue to repeat your incantation at sunrise and sunset there will come a time when, with the touch of the wand-tip to the chest, a second heartbeat may be sensed, sometimes more powerful than the first, sometimes less so. Nothing should be changed. The incantation should be uttered without fail at the correct times, never omitting a single occasion._

• • •

"You," said Snape, his beady little eyes fixed on James in an expression of utmost loathing. "You're up to something."

They were standing in the narrow hall outside the Potions classroom. Twenty minutes before, James, Sirius, and Peter had run out of Professor Slughorn's lesson, making it to a quiet classroom just before the sun set. Slughorn had only looked at them bemusedly; he was fond of all of them except Peter, who had no talent for potions, and Sirius commented that he probably didn't care where they were going as long as they made it to the next Slug Club meeting.

Remus, bent over his cauldron, watched them leave, his eyebrows creased, but said nothing.

They had performed the incantation, which, by now, James was sure he could have said in his sleep. _Amato animo animato animagus!_ As always, nothing happened. As always, James couldn't suppress a slight shiver at the thought that they might have been doing it wrong this whole time.

Then they had emerged to find Snape, his greasy hair trailing over his shoulders, stabbing a stubby finger at them as though they had just admitted to slipping toothpaste into his breakfast tea.

"Maybe nobody else has seen it, but I have," declared Snape. James hadn't thought it possible, but Snape's eyes narrowed even more. "You've been acting weird—not weird; _bizarre_ , even by your usual standards—for months. You're planning something. I'm going to find out what it is."

"The only thing we've been planning," said Sirius, "is how best to get that stupid nose of yours to a Muggle surgeon, Snivellus."

"I see someone's been paying attention in Muggle Studies," Snape said. "Wilkes was telling me about how he used to come round to your house before Hogwarts. How your mum used to beg him and Mulciber to keep you company. How you were a dirty little blood traitor even then."

Twin spots of scarlet were blossoming on Sirius' cheeks. James knew the memory of the letters he'd received from his mother were still fresh. James hadn't read them—he'd watched Sirius set fire to them only minutes after receiving them—but he thought he had a pretty good idea of what they had said.

Sirius withdrew his wand from his pocket. Snape copied his motion.

"At least I know what I am," Sirius hissed. "At least I'm proud of it. Not like you, Snivellus. Do all those blood purists you hang out with know you're only a half blood? Did you tell them about your dad yet? I suppose they all think your mum couldn't do any better for herself, what with that great honking nose on her. Mind you, I suppose she didn't realize your dad would make it worse—must have a few hag ancestors; all you need is to look at you—"

"Don't you dare," said Snape. His voice had gone cool and dangerous. "Don't you _dare—_ "

He and Sirius cast their curses at the same time. Peter ducked, covering his head with his hands. James whipped out his own wand and pointed it at Snape, but it was already too late; they were already fighting in earnest, and there were too many flying spells for him to aim safely.

 _"_ _Relashio!"_

 _"_ _Petrificus totalus!"_

 _"_ _Densaugeo!'_

 _"_ _Rictusempra!"_

 _"_ _EXPELLIARMUS!"_

This last spell didn't come from Sirius or Snape, and it took James a moment to realize who had cast it. It was only when he saw Remus that he understood. He was standing just behind Snape, in the doorway of the classroom they had used for the Animagus spell. He was also holding Snape's wand.

"I'll give this back," Remus explained, brandishing it at Snape, "if you get out of here."

Snape stared at him. Remus stared back, his eyebrows very slightly raised.

"Your dormitory's down that way," he said. He gestured at his prefect's badge, the one James had only ever seen him trying to cover up with the folds of his cloak. "Do you want me to report you?"

Snape gave Sirius a look of unmistakable hatred. "This isn't over," he muttered.

"No," Sirius agreed. "It isn't."

Snape plucked his wand out of Remus' hands, tucked it into his robe pockets, and stalked off, leaving James and Peter to gape after him.

"Remus," said Peter slowly. "Er."

Remus did not meet any of their eyes. He was worrying at his lower lip, his expression focused on a crack in the stone wall where a spider was dangling by a thread.

"Ahem. That room. The one you're standing in," said James, trying and failing to think of any way Remus might have followed them to the classroom where they'd performed the spell without their noticing. "When did you… get there?"

Remus looked at James. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, despite the fact that the full moon was weeks away. He opened his bag and pulled out James' Invisibility Cloak.

There was a prolonged, awkward silence.

"You heard us, then," said James. "The spell we did."

Remus gave a brief nod.

James consulted Sirius and Peter briefly with his eyes. They both looked just as unsure as he felt. Sirius glanced at Remus, and James understood what he was thinking.

 _Do you think he knows what the spell does?_

"There are rules, for it," said James, trying to feel out how much of the truth he should reveal. "We have to do it perfectly. We have to cast it every sunrise and sunset, and we can't miss it even once. That's why we've been gone so much. We'd have explained it to you; we were _going_ to, except…"

"The spell," said Peter unhelpfully. "It's a bit… there are things…"

 _We have to tell him,_ said Sirius' eyes. _We don't have a choice anymore._

 _I know,_ James tried to say. _But I don't know how_.

"It's complicated," said James, feeling as if he was about to plunge headfirst into kappa-infested waters. "Really, really complicated. We'd have told you. We were waiting for the right time to tell you. But."

"It was going to be a surprise," said Peter.

"Look, mate," said Sirius abruptly, and made the decision for them. "We're becoming Animagi. The three of us are. For you."

Remus looked at him as if he had gone madder than his great-aunt Cassiopeia, who was currently convalescing in a Home for Reality-Challenged Witches.

"It's a really fiddly spell," said James, aware that he was about to start blathering, but unable to make himself stop. "Well, really it's a potion _and_ a spell. We've had to do all sorts—there were the Mandrake leaves, first of all—that's what they were, you know, they weren't cabbages. And then we had to get this dew from the centaurs—they _really_ didn't want to talk to us, but we got it anyway—we went while you were in the hospital wing. And Sirius' Uncle Alphard is still convinced he's whipping up Love Potions because of the chrysalises we asked him to send—"

"I've had to make up a girlfriend," said Sirius. "Don't want to disappoint the poor man. Mehitabel, I've named her. Hitty for short."

"I told the centaurs I wanted to be a flea," said Peter proudly. "I don't, of course. I'm hoping more for an otter. They always look like they have such fun swimming."

" _That_ wouldn't be much use against a wolf," said Sirius, frowning at Peter. "I'm hoping for a bear, myself."

"Hang on just a second," said Remus, suddenly paling again. "Wouldn't be much use against a— _what_ are you trying to do?"

"We're not trying, we're _doing_ ," said Sirius, with a kind of confidence that James did not feel. "We've nearly got it, we're just waiting for—well, anyway. We're going to become Animagi, and then we're coming to the Shrieking Shack with you. To keep the wolf company. To make things easier. The books all say transformations go much better if the wolf is with a pack."

"And there's no way it can hurt us," said James, operating under the vague hope that the look on Remus' face would grow milder if they only kept talking. "Werewolves only care about humans, right? They do, that's what all the books say, we've read dozens of books, the _library_ doesn't even have all the books we've read. And we won't be humans, we'll be animals, so we'll be fine. It's brilliant, isn't it? Isn't it? Sirius thought of it, but we'd been trying to come up with a way to help for ages."

"And then you won't, you know, hurt yourself like you do," said Peter. "Because you'll have us."

"You're mental," said Remus hoarsely, looking from James to Sirius to Peter as if he expected them to jump at him, waving a knife. "You're all completely mental. How long have you even been—"

"Since second year," said Sirius, grinning.

"Since we found out, pretty much," James admitted.

There was a small, and yet somehow still prolonged, sort of pause.

Then Remus put his hands over his face, took them off, stared at his palms, shoved them into his pockets, and began pacing down the hallway, his back turned to them. They watched him go, hoping he would turn around when he reached the end of the corridor. He didn't. He merely stood there, his shoulders clenched.

"Should we follow?" whispered Peter.

James felt very strongly that they shouldn't.

"He'll come back," he said. "Just—just wait a minute."

He did, but it took more than a minute. In that time, the three of them stood frozen, looking at their shoes, because it would only make things worse, James felt, to look at Remus; he was sure he would somehow be able to feel their eyes on his back. They stood like that for so long that James almost jumped when Remus' footsteps suddenly sounded from just a few feet in front of him.

James tried to arrange his face in such a way that Remus would be unable to tell what he was thinking, what he was hoping. But James didn't have that sort of face.

"How close are you?" said Remus, his voice very quiet. "You said you were close."

"There are just a few more things we have to do," said Sirius, too jauntily. "Bits and bobs, here and there. It could take a while, but I've decided it won't. Anyway, it's all downhill from here; the hard bit is done. Except for the spells. Got to do that until the end, apparently."

"Right," said Remus. "So… now that I know about the spells, I could stop you from doing them. Take your wands while you're sleeping and only give them back at breakfast. That would ruin the whole thing, right? The whole spell? So you'd have to stop."

"No," said James, because that was one thing he knew. "We'd only have to start over again."

"Yes," said Peter.

"Exactly," said Sirius.

Remus looked at the three of them. Remus _did_ have the kind of face that was, at times, unreadable.

But then something quirked at the corner of his mouth.

"So what you're saying is, I can't do anything to stop you. No matter what I tell you. You're going to become Animagi regardless." He folded his arms in a rather trembling way. "Even though it's fiddly and difficult and the worst and _stupidest_ idea I've ever heard in my life."

"The boy is brilliant," Sirius remarked. "Top marks."

"No," said Remus. "I mean it. _Is_ that what you're telling me? Is that _exactly_ what you're telling me?"

"It's exactly what we're telling you," said James.

Peter did a nod that was his peculiar specialty, a kind of adamant nod that went on for much longer than nods usually do. Peter, James reflected, was nothing if not loyal.

"Right then," said Remus, and suddenly there he was smiling again, as he had not smiled in weeks, and James knew, with a blast of relief not unlike the force of the spells Sirius had thrown at Snape, that it was going to be all right.

• • •

They were in the empty classroom again. Remus stood guard outside the door.

" _Amato animo animato animagus!"_

Once again, they spoke the words in unison, their wands placed over their hearts as the sun made its daily journey above the horizon, giving Scotland its few much-needed hours of sunlight. Once again, nothing escaped from their wand tips, just as nothing was supposed to. And once again, they breathed a sigh of relief, one that hid only a tinge of disappointment.

But this time something was different.

It started off very faintly, and at first, James was sure he was imagining it. Still, he kept his wand where it was, even as Peter and Sirius began to gather up their things and prepared to head to breakfast. No, James thought… he wasn't imagining it… was he? It was there. It was. He was sure he could feel it.

As soon as he thought this, the feeling became much more pronounced, and then he _was_ sure. He took in a sharp breath, stuck his wand in his back pocket, and put his hand over his chest instead. Two heartbeats. Not just one; not anymore.

"Guys," he said, trying not to sound too panicked. _"Guys."_

When Remus came into the classroom ten minutes later to find out what was taking them so long, it was to discover his three best friends with their hands clasped over their chests, as if about to take some kind of solemn, life-altering vow.

"As far as I know, only Americans do the Pledge of Allegiance," he said, glancing them over. "But I suppose it's none of my business if you've decided to abandon your country."

"It's so strong," said Sirius, his voice awestruck. "Like, stronger than my real heartbeat, I think."

"Maybe I messed it up," said Peter nervously. "I _think_ I can feel mine, but—but it's really small. Faint. Do you think I did something wrong?"

"You did everything we did," said James. "If you did something wrong, then we all did something wrong, and we _didn't_ , Peter. We can feel the heartbeats! The book said loads of people never get this far."

To him, the heartbeats felt entirely equal. It was impossible to tell which one was his and which one belonged to the animal that was slowly making a home somewhere within him. He didn't care which was which. The sun was high in the sky now, and all of Saturday stretched before them. Remus clearly still had no idea what was happening, but there must have been something about it that he found amusing, because his lips kept twitching.

 _"_ _Amato animo animato animagus,"_ James muttered to himself. Maybe he did understand what it was supposed to mean.


	6. Steps Five, Six, and Seven

_5\. Immediately upon the appearance of lightning in the sky, proceed directly to the place where your crystal phial is hidden. If you have followed all the preceding steps correctly, you will discover a mouthful of blood-red potion inside it._

• • •

In later years, the only justification James could come up with for the storm that ripped its way through Hogsmeade right before Christmas was that Sirius had willed it to happen. Even the weather, it seemed, was not immune to the unexplainable charm of the Sirius Idea; it didn't matter that they lived in Scotland and storms generally needed a great deal of warm air to develop. Sirius had decided that they needed a storm as soon as possible, and even if it happened more than a month later than he would have preferred, the fact that it happened at all was, in James' opinion, a miracle.

It would have been nice if it hadn't happened in the middle of Transfiguration, though.

James was spending McGonagall's lecture on advanced Summoning Charms vaguely kicking the back of Lily Evans' seat, though he made a conscious effort to be gentle. Right now she was steadfastly ignoring him, but he had a half-formed hope that she would turn around, and then he could give her a winning smile, a soft one, and she would see that he wasn't at _all_ the idiot she thought he was. A stunned look would cross her face, and keep her up at night, and then, tomorrow, she would come seek him out, and—

 _BANG_. An impossibly loud noise split the air, accompanied by a silver-white flash of light that illuminated the snowy landscape outside the window, where dusk had fallen several hours before. A lightning strike. James and Sirius had done some reading on meteorology in recent weeks; James knew that the only real chance they had at a winter thunderstorm was when snow was falling in earnest. The castle's ancient stone foundations vibrated under James' feet.

He took one look at Peter and Sirius, and the three of them leapt from their seats and ran from the room, leaving everything except their wands behind.

"I warned them not to have the banana pudding at lunch," said Remus conversationally. "The house elf who makes it always puts the strangest things in. But they didn't listen to me. Best avoid the Gryffindor toilets for a while."

Lily Evans' mouth dropped open. James ran faster after that.

None of the books said how long after the first bolt of lightning they had to get their potions, but they had agreed they couldn't risk waiting even a second longer than they had to, and so they made it to Gryffindor Tower faster than James thought they had ever made it before. As class was still in session, there was no Gregory Cotton to worry about, and so they proceeded straight to the secret drawer in the trunk, where Sirius almost ripped it out in haste to see what was inside.

The three crystal phials that they had deposited several months before were still there, but they were different. Where before they were full of hair and dew and soggy Mandrake leaves, now they each contained what looked to be a single swallow of dark red potion.

The sight made something inside James' stomach turn over. He took a long breath in. This wasn't the time. They had only minutes, if that.

"It looks like blood," said Peter, voicing James' own thoughts.

"It's supposed to," said Sirius roughly, and James knew that his mind was where it should be, on the next step of the process, which they should already be on their way to completing. "Come on. It's time to change."

• • •

 _6\. It is essential to move, at once, to a large, secure place where your transformation cannot cause alarm or place you in physical danger. Place your wand-tip against your heart, speak the incantation 'Amato Animo Animato Animagus,' and then drink the potion._

• • •

The only possible place was the Room of Requirement. Under cover of James' Invisibility Cloak, the three of them crept through the hallways, once nearly crashing straight into Madam Hooch, who was carrying a large and unwieldy box of Quaffles. But they made it there more or less without incident, and when they'd finished walking past the tapestry of Barnaby the Barmy three times, a wide oaken door appeared in the wall opposite, not altogether different from the entrance to Hagrid's hut.

James and Sirius put their hands to it at the same instant, glancing grimly at each other. After a second's hesitation, Peter did the same. The door opened.

Inside was the Room of Requirement as James had never seen it before. Where, in his experience, it was usually stocked with every joke product imaginable, far beyond the scope of Zonko's, it was now almost entirely empty. All that was inside were two enormous glass walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, standing parallel to each other and perpendicular to the door, creating three long, narrow rooms. Each was accessible by way of three tall glass gates, which stood only a few feet from James, Sirius, and Peter.

"It's so we don't harm each other," said James softly. "If we lose control of the minds."

"They're magically enforced," said Sirius, nodding, squinting at the walls. "I suppose, if something goes wrong with one of us, we could open the gates and try to help… once we've turned back, that is…"

Peter said what James was trying not to think.

"What if something goes wrong with _all_ of us? We made the same potion, after all. What then?"

"Then we'll bear it proudly," said Sirius, straightening up, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Or at least… we will if it turns out that we're bears."

Peter looked horrified, but James forced a laugh, shook off the Cloak, positioned himself in front of the gate in the middle, and uncapped his potion. The cork came off with a thin hiss. James stared into his phial's depths. The potion really did look like blood.

He didn't let himself look away.

"Now?" he said.

"Now," said Sirius.

"See you on the other side," Peter whispered.

James opened the gate and locked himself in.

• • •

 _7\. If all has gone correctly, you will feel a fiery pain and an intense double heartbeat. Into your mind will come the shape of the creature into which you are shortly to transform. You must show no fear. It is too late, now, to escape the change you have willed._

• • •

 _PAIN._

It was like nothing James had ever felt. It started deep in his chest, behind his ribcage, but soon burrowed into the very depths of his heart, twisting and pulling and wrenching. He doubled over, clutching at his knees; the now-familiar heartbeat from innumerable dusk-and-dawn spells was pounding at hundreds of times its usual force; his stomach jolted backwards; he thought he might be sick; he couldn't breathe; he couldn't—

 _Silence_.

Everything went very bright. The pain stopped. The Room of Requirement glowed, flickered, and then disappeared completely.

James was standing in the Forbidden Forest. It wasn't raining anymore; it was a perfectly clear evening, each star as pale and precise as a pinprick in a black velvet cloth. The weather was just as he liked it: cool and slightly breezy, the birch trees bobbing gently around the clearing where he stood. Unlike the last time he had been in the forest, he had no feeling of unease, no dim idea that he should stay on his guard. He was perfectly relaxed. He felt, in every sense of the word, _quiet._

He dropped to the ground, which was soft with moss and fallen leaves, and leaned against a tree, stretching his arms up and outwards. Something moved out of the corner of his eye.

But where James would normally have withdrawn his wand, ready to defend himself against whatever was lurking in the woods, he was sure, somehow, that it would not harm him. He had been brought here to meet it. It was coming to welcome him—as ridiculous as it sounded, and yet he _knew_ it—it was coming to welcome him home.

The breeze sighed around him, and James looked up.

A stag stood before him, long-legged and gentle-eyed, the graceful curve of its antlers the only thing in these woods the wind couldn't sway. It stood before him, and its dark eyes met his, and James found himself giving it a small nod.

 _So this is who I am,_ he thought. _I wondered._

The stag bowed its own head, as if to agree. James stretched out a slightly shaky hand. It was soft, like his favorite jumper. It nuzzled his wrist; moved to meet his palm. He touched the space right between its eyes—

 _PAIN._

He wasn't in the Forest anymore. He wasn't sure where he was anymore.


	7. Steps Eight and Nine

_8\. The first transformation is usually uncomfortable and frightening. Clothing and items such as glasses or jewellery meld to the skin and become one with fur, scales or spikes. Do not resist and do not panic or the animal mind may gain the ascendancy and you could do something foolish, such as try to escape through a window or charge a wall._

• • •

The pain was fading, but nothing else was. If anything, the second heartbeat— _the stag's heartbeat,_ he remembered _—_ was growing even stronger. James, as he recognized himself, was rapidly dissolving.

He couldn't stop himself from crying out (more from surprise than from pain, now) when his glasses suddenly slammed into the space around his eyes and sank beneath his skin. His robes, too, were shrinking, sticking to him, pulling themselves too far inward.

 _Is this how it is for Remus?_ wondered a small voice inside his head, then shook off the thought completely, furious with himself.

No. This was definitely not how it was for Remus.

And now it was his body that was changing, although the pain was gone, and he only felt a little cramped, and yet also a little too stretched out. His back arced upward, while his arms and legs shot downward, and that jumper-soft fur sprouted from his neck to his spine to the tail that had suddenly appeared behind him. He didn't have fingers anymore, nor toes; they had hardened into hooves, and what had started as a light weight on his head was gradually growing heavier as his antlers grew and branched out, mirror images of each other.

And then it stopped. It all stopped.

If he could have, James would have grinned. As it was, he probably looked pretty stupid: a fully-grown stag, standing in the middle of a narrow room with glass walls, his mouth hanging open, his heartbeat soft again now, but beating twice its usual rhythm.

This was not how it was for Remus, but it would never again be as bad for him as it had been before. Not now. Not now that James could do this.

• • •

 _9\. When your transformation is complete you should find yourself physically comfortable. You are strongly advised to pick up your wand at once, and hide it in a place of safekeeping, where you will be able to find it when you regain a human form._

• • •

James didn't bother moving his wand; it was perfectly safe where it was, lying on the floor, needed by nobody. Instead, he looked, for the first time, left and right, hoping to find out what had happened to Sirius and Peter.

Sirius was easy, because he turned to look at James at exactly the same time James turned to him. Inside his head, James laughed aloud. _Of course_ that's what Sirius would be. Of course.

Oh, he was going to come up with _so_ many horrible dog-themed jokes in the weeks to come.

The huge black mongrel on the other side of the wall wagged its tail enthusiastically. A calm presence from somewhere within James told him that stags did nothing of the sort, even in response, so he merely glanced back at Sirius. Then he put on his stupid grin again, because even if _stags_ didn't smile, Jameses did, and Sirius grinned back, looking for all the world like a stray who had just happened upon a steak.

 _Peter_ , James thought then, and he was pretty sure Sirius was thinking the same thing.

Their heads turned together, looking beyond the wall on James' left into the room where they had last seen their friend. But there was no one—and indeed, no creature—inside. At least to James' eyes (suddenly color-blind, blurred due to the non-invention of stag glasses), the room was completely empty.

James and Sirius exchanged glances. Without so much as some makeshift sign language, they proceeded to their respective gates, managed to get them open (James with more difficulty, as hooves are clumsier than paws), and fumbled into Peter's enclosure, tripping over themselves, not yet used to the way their new bodies moved—but that didn't matter now.

It should be impossible for Peter to be missing. The Room of Requirement had been specifically _set up_ to make that impossible—there were no windows, no doors, nothing that could break; James had made sure to ask for that as they had created this version of the room. So what had happened?

 _He could have run,_ said a traitorous voice in James' head. _He could have watched you and Sirius drink the potion, seen how it hurt, opened the gate, got the hell out—_

–but he _wouldn't_ have, James told himself. Peter was one of them; had been since the second week of first year. He was loyal to a fault. He had gone this far with them, hadn't he, even though it was clear he was afraid? He was _Peter_. He'd tried jinx Avery once in James' defense, despite knowing he had no chance. He'd once volunteered to send every member of Sirius' family a Howler. He played wizard's chess with Remus every month while he was recovering, pretending he didn't care that he always lost. And he'd gone into the Forest with them, had faced real danger with them—had even spoken to the centaurs—

Sirius barked, a sound James hadn't expected, and one that still seemed bizarre coming from his best friend, dog though he might be. James turned, and suddenly all the cold inside him warmed again.

Peter wasn't missing at all. He had only shrunk.

The rat at James' hooves chittered excitably, its long, wormlike tail whipping back and forth across the floor. James, hoping this was Peter's choice rather than the rat's, tried to reassure him, a decision that resulted in an unexpected snorting noise from the stag's nose. Sirius barked again, in such a way that James knew he was laughing at him.

He drew himself up, hoping to look at least slightly dignified, like the stag in his dream, but instead he found himself splayed onto the floor like a newborn foal. He had never imagined that being a stag would take _practice_ , but there you were. At least he wasn't going to have to learn to fetch.

Beside him, Sirius was shifting, his dog's body growing tall and lean, the dark fur withdrawing into his skin. James remembered what the Animagus book said, that the only thing you needed to do to change back was to remember who you were.

Who he was really wanted to burst out of the Room of Requirement and run straight to Remus. James found he had no difficulty with changing back at all.


	8. Step Ten

_10\. To return to a human form, visualise your human self as clearly as you can. This should be sufficient, but do not panic if the transformation does not occur immediately. With practice, you will be able to slip in and out of your animal form at will, simply by visualising the creature. Advanced Animagi can transform without wands._

• • • _  
_

The moon shone onto the Black Lake, its reflection as sharp and perfect as the swollen orb in the sky. It was a clear night, though a cold one: Christmas was only a few days away. If, for some reason, a visitor found themselves standing beside a rather peculiar, gnarled tree that sat at the edge of the dark forest beyond, they would have thought at first that it was a night like any other.

Then, out of nowhere, three shadowed figures emerged out of thin air. The tallest of them laughed, his slightly hoarse voice echoing into the night. "Damn wolf's going to have no idea what hit him."

"Yeah, well, let's try not to hit him too hard," said James, as they approached the Whomping Willow. "How do you control a werewolf, anyway? There couldn't have been even one book about that? In the whole library?"

"We're unprecedented, mate," said Sirius. "One of a kind."

"It really is a good thing none of us are fleas," Peter mused. "That would probably have just made the wolf angrier."

Peter transformed then, as they had agreed, and pressed the knot in the Willow that Remus had told them about. As if on cue, Remus— _not Remus—_ began to howl. It was a sound that chilled James' insides and refocused his mind, flooding him with purpose.

After all this time, there was finally something they could do.

James gritted his teeth as the howling gave way to snapping, snarling; he watched as the Willow shook and then froze. Rat-Peter squeaked from the mouth of the tunnel beneath it. The moon seemed to grow larger, brighter.

"Let's go," James whispered to Sirius, and together they changed, running headfirst into the darkness where their friend was waiting.


End file.
